Yes Lumpy, there is a Santa Claus
by Rose103
Summary: Based on Yes Virginia there is a Santa ClausHeart warming, foul mouthed, fodder starring Lumpy, Roo's purple heffalump pal with a heart of gold.
1. Chapter 1

Part One 

"Hooray! Hooray!" Lumpy the heffalump squealed with delight as he skidded down the snowy lane. Big flakes of soft, silvery, snow began to float down from the sky like Dave Mustaine after a serious acid trip.

"Let's see how many snowflakes we can catch on our tongues," he said to his best buddy Roo.

Roo and Lumpy were walking home from school. It had freshly snowed during the long school day of studying Native American art and fractions, and Lumpy was ready to make the most of it.

"Stupid snow," Roo muttered and kicked a chunk of ice.

"Snow is glorious Roo!" Lumpy cried and threw himself in a bank of it.

"It's just going to be all dirty and nasty looking by tomorrow morning," Roo muttered. "Lumpy, get out of that bank. You look ridiculous. You'll catch your death."

"Blimey! You are worse than my mother," Lumpy spat. "Come on Roo. The snow is fun. We can go to my place and build a snow fort. Perhaps this weekend my old man will take us up to Boyne Highlands to go skiing." Lumpy's father owned a cottage up by Boyne Highlands Ski Resort. Lumpy loved spending the weekends up there. Weekends at Boyne meant skiing from eight in the morning until nine o'clock at night. It meant checking out snow babes in the warming huts. It meant eating a pot of Dad's homemade chili, and drinking hot-spiced wine, laced with cloves. Only at Boyne, Lumpy was allowed to drink hot wine after a long day on the slopes. Only at Boyne, was Lumpy allowed to join in on nightly poker and gin rummy to win scratch offs. Only at Boyne, was Lumpy allowed to stay up and watch good, wholesome, movies such as _Warlock _and _Aspen Extreme._ Only at Boyne, did Lumpy get to sleep in a sweet looking log bunk bed. Since Lumpy was the host, he always got to sleep in the top bunk, with Roo or his cousin Ned in the bottom. Lumpy loved those cold, Boyne nights with Roo. The boys would tell ghost stories, make hockey bets, discuss masturbation, and eat honey-roasted chestnuts.

"Boyne is lame," Roo said.

"Lame!" Lumpy cried in horror. "Boyne rocks. Boyne is the shit."

"Dude," Roo said. "I'll tell you what the shit is. Vail is the shit. Last Christmas break my old man took me to Vail. Boyne is a fucking ant hill compared to Vail."

"Well maybe Tigger's friend who has all the snowmobiles will be around and we could go snowmobiling," Lumpy suggested. Tigger was good friends with Raiders receiver Randy Moss's nephew Pete Moss. Randy had a vacation cabin in the Hundred Acre Woods, loaded with all sorts of toys. Sometimes the boys would come over to snow mobile.

"Nah, Pete's not in town," Roo replied. "All this snow is going to do is turn into gray slush. I'm going to have to shovel the walk when I get home, and the accumulation won't even be enough to get the schools closed."

"Perhaps," said Lumpy sadly. "I guess so." He then brightened. "But the snow does mean that Christmas is coming. Aren't you excited?"

Roo shrugged.

"Not really. The break from school will be nice. The mincemeat pie is always tasty."

"You are missing the presents!" Lumpy exclaimed. "Aren't you excited about your presents?"

"My dad is the most prominent defense lawyer in the shit-ass state of Michigan," Roo said. "I get presents all the time."

"Yeah but, don't you enjoy the suspense of not knowing what is in that box, under all the wrapping paper?" Lumpy was shocked at Roo's passiveness.

"No." Roo said flatly. "I know what I want, I always get what I want, so it's under the wrapping paper. I get what I ask for, plus the token parcel of socks and underpants, and some more cock sucking Legos that I no longer play with. This year I want the X Box 360, and some of the cool games to go with it, and some new soccer gear."

"Did you ask Santa for the X Box?" Lumpy asked.

"No," Roo said with disgust. "Why in the hell would I do that?"

"So you get it," retorted Lumpy.

"My dad will get it," Roo said.

"So Santa will bring you the games?" Lumpy asked.

"Lumpy, you know very well that there is no Santa Claus. It's all a hoax for children," Roo explained.

"There is to a Santa Claus," Lumpy defended. "Why they even have a special box at the post office to mail your letter to him."

"That's all bullshit," Roo shrugged. "Your letter gets put in a box, and the box gets dumped into the recycling.

"That's not true!" Lumpy cried. "Last year I asked for a build your own Star Wars battleship, and I got it."

"Your parents got it for you," Roo replied.

"No they bought me remote controlled submarines."

"And theyalso got you the battleship," Roo corrected. "And any other shit that Santa supposedly brought you. All Santa is a commercialized pawn for retail stores to get more money from stupid parents trying to get everything that their child asked for. Why do you think they have toy drives for the children that are poor, or in hospitals? Santa could just bring them what they want, but since there is no Santa, they have to rely on people donating the presents."

Lumpy thought about this for a minute. Could it be true? Lumpy had assumed that Santa visited all children, everywhere. But why did they have toy drives? If a kid was poor, he could simply go to Santa and ask for the gifts he or she wanted, and receive it. Why did people need to donate?

"Maybe it's because their parents can't get them anything, and it looks bad if everything is from Santa," he guessed weakly. Roo shook his head.

"It's because there is no one to get gifts for them. There is no Santa, or reindeer, or elves. If there were a Santa there would be no children out there with nothing under the tree. There would be no families with no food on the table, or heat in the house. Santa would fix it all. Nobody fucking knows if you've been bad or good all year. Last year I was a total dick. A dick all the time! I egged the house of an old lady dying of breast cancer, treated my mom like a slave, stole a few cans of Dad's beer from the fridge, pissed on a war memorial, lied in the confessional at church, tripped a cripple- and I still got everything I wanted."

Lumpy had no answer to Roo's logic. They walked the rest of the way in silence. Lumpy no longer felt like jumping in snow banks, and making snow angels. He suddenly felt worn and pissed off that he had to freeze his ass off in the bitter cold.

"Well there must be a Santa," Lumpy said when they reached Roo's house. "I just know there is."

"According to Eeyore, you are just one of those mislead pieces of shit that has to believe some uneducated fluff to feel good, like people who believe in heaven," said Roo.

"I know there's a Santa," Lumpy said forcefully. "I can prove it. Between just you and me, NOT my parents. The one thing that I really want for Christmas is to meet Peyton Manning. I will tell Santa, not my parents, and we'll see if he delivers. Peyton Manning can't be bought in a store. Only a miracle, the miracle of Santa could bring him to my house on Christmas day."

"You're on Lumpy," Roo snorted. "Not even Jesus could bring Peyton Manning to your house to meet you. If you can't come through I want your sweet leather Dale Earnhardt Jr. jacket."

"Fine." Lumpy spat. "If I win, then I want your new X Box."

"Deal," said Roo. The boys drew up a contract and signed it. It was a done deal.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

Later that night, Lumpy began to feel a little sick to his stomach. He shouldn't have let Roo bet on the jacket. Lumpy's Grandfather had bought him the jacket as a souvenir from the Michigan 400 at the International Michigan Speedway. Earnhardt Junior was Lumpy's favorite driver. The jacket was flashy, warm, and expensive. The jacket was the last present that his grandfather had bought him before he died. Lumpy sat on his bed clutching the jacket close. Then he glanced at the picture of him and his Grandfather that sat on his night table. They were together at the Michigan International Speedway. Both looked happy, and were wearing matching jackets. Grandfather wore a Dale Senior one, and Lumpy was in his brand new Earnhardt Junior one. Lumpy was also clutching a huge cup of cherry coke. Then Lumpy looked at his poster of Peyton Manning that hung over his bed. Just staring at the perky face of Manning, made him feel better. It was snowing outside, a soft, docile snow. Lumpy peered out the window at the spectacle of Christmas decorations that the neighbor had across the street. Lumpy's neighbor was one of those old ladies that loved klutzy shit such as Precious Moments, Lifetime movies, Chicken Soup books, and Charlie Brown. Lumpy had been in her house a few times to see that it was a monstrocity of Wal-mart chic with Snoopy characters, glass clowns, cross stitch samplers, music boxes, and stuffed animals all over the place. This also transferred to her front lawn at Christmastide, which was a museum of those huge god-awful blow up snowmen, Santas, and Snoopies that also could light up. Not to mention her tiny little house was decked out in so many lights that it could give one a seizure. It was Christmastide, and Christmastide was a time for miracles. Lumpy climbed into bed and turned out the light.

"Good night Peyton," he said aloud to his poster. "I will be seeing you soon."

By the following week, Lumpy was not feeling so sure about his bet. When he put feelers out about Santa to the other school kids, he got the same spiel that he got from Roo, and even got laughed at. Even little Jenny Berger, a heffalump girl that Lumpy had a small crush on, and always seemed so sweet carrying her Bible through the halls of the school responded by saying

"Of course there's no Santa Claus."

"How do you know?" Lumpy pressed.

"Because," said Jenny. "Two years ago I asked Santa for a Barbie dream house. I found a Barbie dream house a week later in my mom's closet. On Christmas morning the dream house had a tag that said from Santa Claus on it. "

Jenny wasn't one to lie like some of the schoolboys were. After that, Lumpy began to see his Dale Earnhardt Jr. jacket dancing far away, along with his dream of meeting Peyton Manning. He needed some adult help. That afternoon on the way home from school, he found Eeyore outside behind the Hundred Acre Wood morgue, where he worked. He was burning old clothes, body bags, and bedding. Lumpy warmed his paws by the fire of burning rags. Eeyore was smoking a cigarette.

"You know those are cancer sticks," Lumpy said primly.

"Good," Eeyore replied gruffly.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Lumpy asked.

"More cancer sticks," Eeyore replied. "Maybe a cheap whore."

"Can't you just drive to downtown Detroit at night and find one?" Lumpy asked. "Tigger says you can."

Eeyore flicked the butts off his cigarette.

"Oh you can find many cheap whores downtown at night," he said. "But most will only give you a hand job. They're nasty, so I guess that's all you'd want from one anyway. But it would be sweet to get a fairly new one, one that wasn't all crusted up, one that worked cheap, but you could still get laid." He took along drag on his cigarette, a dreamy look spread on his face. "Be pretty sweet."

"Aye," Lumpy agreed. "I am going to ask Santa for Peyton Manning to come to my house and meet me."

Eeyore almost choked on his cigarette with laughter.

"You better ask for something else, or else you're going to have nothin' to open," he replied. "I got a better chance of meeting a cheap virgin whore willing to get her cherry popped for just twenty bucks, than you do of having Peyton Manning come to your house!"

"Maybe," Lumpy said. "But if I ask Santa, he can make it happen. Santa is magic. He could get you, your cheap virgin whore."

Eeyore was laughing harder than he had in years. He popped a Vicodan in his mouth.

"Lumpy, you're old enough to know that there is no Santa Claus," he laughed.

"Of course there is," Lumpy defended, feeling his cheeks growing hot. Now here was an adult siding with Roo. Eeyore stomped out his cigarette.

"Lumpy, where was your cock sucking Santa Claus when I was a kid your age and I got nothing for Christmas except a kick in the ribs, and the living shit punched out of my face from my shit-ass drunk old man? Too drunk to even fucking know that it was Christmas! Too flat out broke to buy presents, and too stoned and drunk to even go to the charity drives! I am a fucking living proof that there is no Santa Claus." And with that Eeyore went back inside the funeral parlor, leaving a saddened Lumpy standing by the pile of embers, in the bitter Michigan cold.


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

Lumpy rapped on the door of Tigger's apartment. Tigger lived in a small apartment that was up over Kanga's garage. To Lumpy and Roo, Tigger was some sort of god that knew everything. Tigger always was having a good time. After all, he got to roll with Randy Moss's nephew, and always had an endless supply of gorgeous women. Tigger would know if there was a Santa Claus. Roo decided to come with Lumpy, but still stuck to his notion of no Santa.

"He's going to disappoint you," Roo warned.

"No he's not," Lumpy retorted. "You are going to be mighty upset when I not only get to meet Peyton Manning, but I also get your X box."

Tigger was watching the Red Wings play the Sabers with Christopher-Robin, Pete Moss, and Pooh. The inviting smell of beer, cigarettes, pot, and Tigger's special of macaroni noodles slathered in tomato sauce with ground beef, onions, and jalapenos greeted them at the door.

"Come in buddies," Tigger said warmly. "Wings are up by 2 and got the power play."

Roo and Lumpy stumbled through the sea of empty beer cans, porno mags, cheeze-it boxes, and pizza boxes that made Tigger's apartment. Pooh had brought over some homemade quesadillas with salsa and guacamole. Lumpy helped himself to some, while Roo asked for a Sprite.

"Tigger," Lumpy asked. "Is there a Santa Claus?"

"Good Question," Tigger replied as he opened a can of Heineken.

"There used to be," Christopher-Robin cut in, with eyes glued to the TV. "But not anymore. They shot him."

"They did not shoot Santa Claus," Pooh interrupted. "I am a bear of minimal brain, but even I know that. They didn't shoot him, they put him on trial for molesting little boys, like the priests."

There was a long period of silence after this, until the Wings scored.

"Eeyore says there is no Santa," Lumpy announced.

"Yeah but Eeyore is a bitter old cuss," Tigger answered. "Of course there's a Santa Claus."

"Really?" Pooh asked looking up from the plate of shit he was eating.

"Yeah dude," Tigger said. He took a swig of beer, and scratched his privates. "He started out in the Netherlands."

"No he didn't," Roo said superiorly. "There is no Santa, and if there was, he'd start out in the North Pole."

"Hey asshole," Tigger said shaking a finger at Roo. "Shut up. I'm telling my story now! I'm a grownup, so I know shit that you don't know. Santa started out in the Netherlands. He was born there, shot out of some chick's snatch just like everybody. His parents named him Nick, Nick Claus. It's a good name, sounds like a drummer. Anyway, he became a priest and eventually a bishop."

"Told you," said Pooh. "Even a bear of limited brain knows he likes the little boys."

"Shut the fuck up!" Christopher-Robin screeched. "I'm listening to Tigger's story."

"He lived back in the day when everyone was poor, and kids had to work in fields and shit like that," Tigger went on. "So as a treat for the kids he would leave candy, and little things such as toy soliders carved out of wood and shit like that in their shoes."

In their shoes?" Roo asked. "Come on, no present worth getting fits in one's shoes."

"That's because you aren't some poor kid working in a cornfield," Tigger replied. "Those kids were thrilled to find candy in their shoes."

"Were the small toys and candy made by the elves?" Lumpy asked.

"Nah," Tigger responded. "The nuns made it. The nuns made the candy and shit." He didn't have reindeer either, just a small wagon and a mule. He did have a sidekick though. He was a black midget. They called him Black Pete, and he was for the bad children. If you were bad then Black Pete would come to your bedside, take out his whip, and beat the living shit out of you."

Roo and Lumpy both turned to stare at Pete Moss, who was squirting some cheese onto some chips.

"What? You think I beat children just because I'm black? I ain't no midget!"

Roo and Lumpy both cowered away. "What?" Pete went on. "Been bad this year?" He flung the bowl of chips, sending the terrified Lumpy and Roo into shrieks.

"Black Pete was a wicked little fucker," Tigger embellished. "Some of the really bad children he would stuff in a chicken feed sack and take with him."

"Where would he take them?" Roo asked.

"Well first he would beat them," Tigger replied. "Some of the really fresh ones he would skin. There was one asshole rich boy who was a real prick. Pete wanted his head. He searched the world with Santa, until he found the boy somewhere in Beverly Hills. I think he was a Baldwin or something. Anyway, the one thing that Black Pete wanted most in the world was this boy's head on a platter." Tigger went to open another beer.

"What happened?" Pooh Bear pressed.

"Wings scored!" Tigger answered.

"No with Black Pete and the Baldwin kid," Pooh demanded.

"Oh, well when the brat was sleeping on Christmas Eve, Santa went to put the presents under the tree, because this happened in the age where presents no longer went in the shoes. Black Pete took a big meat cleaver and SLASHED OFF HIS HEAD!" For effect Tigger sent a beer bottle flying across the room where it barely missed Pete Moss, and broke into a million pieces as it hit the wall. Roo and Lumpy descended into shrieks.

"So if you turds don't behave yourself Black Pete might come after you and skin you, or worse yet, kick your ass!"

"I'll skin your ass!" Pete Moss roared and laughed wildly! He picked up a table knife that had been used to cut pizza earlier and hurled it in Roo and Lumpy's direction!

Roo and Lumpy fled Tigger's apartment shrieking in terror. They didn't stop running until they were safe in Roo's bedchamber. The boys sat in silence collecting their thoughts and their breaths. Finally Roo spoke.

"You can't really believe some mumble-jumble that a drunk Tigger comes up with. After all, if there was a Santa even Jewish kids would get presents," practical Roo said.

"No they wouldn't," said Lumpy. "They're Jewish."

"Santa Claus is supposed to be good and fair, meaning Jewish, Muslim, and Hindu kids would still get a present. He's not a Christian thing you know," Roo was back using his superior tone, and once again gave Lumpy something to ponder.

"We need to go see Santa," Lumpy said trying to steer away the subject. "I have to tell him about Peyton Manning."

"True," Roo agreed. "If you want a chance of keeping that jacket at all." Roo ran his paw on the soft red and black leather of Lumpy's stunning Dale Earnhardt Junior jacket. "This will be sweet. It will look pretty cool on me."


End file.
